I sound more bitter about that than I mean to. I don’t begrudge Nate his chance at more money and better career prospects.
But it still sucks to get left behind.
“Come on,” Emily says. “No one is cooler than you.”
“I’m a popular dork. It’s not the same as being cool.”
“Well, I think you’re the coolest.”
“Something no one cool ever needs to be told.”
Emily smiles, but then it’s like she remembers she’s pissed at me, and she scowls at the schedule again.
“They’re doing a lingerie photo shoot,” she says. “With the Not-Wives in harnesses hanging off a cliff?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t knowwhy.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Isn’t that your fantasy?”
I give her a look of offense I’m only half-faking. Myfantasywas that time we set up my portable climbing wall in my work studio in the middle of the night and made love hanging in harnesses and then again on the crash pad beneath. It was awkward and sexy and hotter than hell. “No, that is not myfantasy,” I say. “They’re, like, fifty years old.”
Emily gives me a death glare, though I’m not sure why. Before I can ask, she turns the glare back to the schedule. “Are you going to be in this lingerie shoot?”
“We’re in charge of the climbing safety,” I say, peering over her shoulder. “So we’ll need to find out what time of day the photographer wants, what kind of lighting on the wall so we can find a location—” I fall silent as I realize what she means. “You mean are they going to take pictures ofme?”
“You’re hosting the show, and it saystalent. It doesn’t list names.”
Oh my god. I want to say they can’t make me do that, but as host, I did agree to be photographed or filmed at any time during this week, and also for ‘promotional photo shoots.’”
“They aren’t going to want sexy pictures ofme,” I say.
Emily gives me a dubious look and makes a note in the margin.
A pit forms in my gut.
“What would I even wear?” I ask. “A banana hammock?”
“Probably. Are you willing to do that?”
I feel like I’m going to be sick. “No way.They’re allowed to choose my wardrobe, and they’re allowed to film me whenever, but I didn’t say I’d wear a banana hammock, and they can’t make me.”
“I’ll ask them about it. It might help to know what youwouldbe willing to do, if anything.”
I stare at her, but she’s still intent on the schedule, flipping pages, making notes. She’s not helping me out here.
“Are you okay with me doing a shoot like that?” I ask.
“Sure,” Emily says. “Whatever you want to do.”
There’s an edge to her voice, though, and I’m pretty sure there’s a right and wrong answer to this.
It’s not like I’ve never been naked on YouTube. We have a tradition of taking our clothes off when we get to the top of new monuments. I’ve been filmed skinny-dipping, and jumping off any number of high cliffs into pools of water below wearing nothing. We do use a heavy dose of blur to obscure any actual butts, boobs, or genitalia. My team and I swear way too much to be family-friendly, but we’re not exhibitionists.
“No banana hammocks,” I say. I’m not wearing something like that on film when I don’t get to control how much gets blurred later.Though I don’t think I would wear one ofthoseeven on my own show. Certainly not without getting incredibly drunk first. For some reason, that sounds way more humiliating than getting naked. “They probably don’t even want pictures of me, but if they do, I’m at least wearing boxers.”
Even that makes me cringe, which is dumb. I have definitely been on film in those before, and no blur was involved.
“I’ll let them know,” Emily says.
